that’s how I think aboutthe woman Mati,then what she’d seeif she looked at me nowwith her prophetess eyesthat melt your bonesshe knows how menlike to look at womenand how to look back at men

right into their eyesas if there was religious depth in the iris- ignore the whites -it always has to be the irisrich with life-colourblue and weepinggreen precious emeraldbrown and common as muckbut therein an ocean of creation,wild colours not often foundunless you look long into the iris

never mind, if Mati looked at me now she’dsay, fuck that Jim shave and take a bath —and that’s what I would dofor bathing is sacred so I’dask her to come in that bathsplash water on my backshave the auld gray beard away

go on, she’d ask,what’s your favourite punctuation mark?I’d muse on the stupidity of the questionand the fun of it,cum on her milky-white teethas if it had meaning

people row up and down the canal,laughter and voices, and waterbreaking under the oars —her father liked the water toosailing and swimmingspinning under and up in his canoe

Sunday is her favourite day to sit so busy with boats and motherswith children and fathers lookingsomehow bewilderedas if the womencould send them a message of wisdom,tell them telepathicallywhat they are forsomehow fathers don’t know anymore

Sandra Alland’s Jacket2 feature on new Scottish poets collects the work of nine poets from Glasgow and Edinburgh in an effort to track current trends in varied and explorative poetics, from Alison Smith’s British Sign Language poetry to Colin Herd’s humorous and versatile texts to Marvo Men’s performance pieces — and much more.